Memories and Hopes
by peacefulsands
Summary: Max's memories of escaping from Manticore are revived as the snow falls.  Alec's view of their departure can be read in Chapter 2.
1. Memories and Hopes          Max's view

**Memories and Hopes**

Written for the prompt : Dark Angel, Max, snow always reminds her of the night they ran from Manticore

Disclaimer: All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author. No money is being made from this work. No copyright infringement is intended.

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**Memories and Hopes**

Max stood at the window of the apartment she shared with OC looking out at the softly falling flakes of snow covering the dark street below. It was quiet now, OC and her neighbors sleeping, so the only sounds were the creak of relaxing floorboards; no footsteps, no banging doors; none of the sounds of busy life that filled the apartment block during the day.

She sighed. Moments like this always brought back memories of that night, that very first night. She couldn't forget any of it, no matter how she tried. She would be haunted forever by the good and the bad that came that night.

She remembered the anticipation, the surge of adrenaline as they finally made their move after months of planning, waiting and trying to ensure that they knew every possible outcome. She remembers lying in their barrack room, counting the minutes as they passed between one sweep of the guards and the next, waiting . . . for the deepest, darkest part of the night, when their superior senses would give them the most advantage over the guards who would be in pursuit.

They hadn't known enough; there was no way they could ever have known enough to make the escape easy. They were trying to use Manticore's own training against Manticore . . . naivete was probably the best way to describe it.

Still despite all of that they'd used it all and they'd been ruthless, almost without exception, they'd fought tooth and nail for every inch closer to freedom they came.

It was strange how what hurt most then was the fear, the unknown freedom that was now theirs. That sudden realization that they were no longer together, no longer a team once they'd escaped. It was every one of them for themselves and that was something they'd never known. For all the training, all the theory and intelligence, Max had never been alone. Every moment of her existence had been spent in the company of her team mates – every thing – awake, asleep, sick, well, in class or in the field, even in the labs. She'd never been alone for more than the time she'd spent on maneuvers, tracking through the forests surrounding Manticore, knowing her brothers and sisters were there with her, just out of sight, a shout away.

Faced with utter independence, solitude, she had nearly balked, nearly turned back, not imagining how she could possibly survive without her team, but Zach's insistent words stayed with her. Zach's words and Ben's dreams of a better life outside.

She'd fought to keep going, determined to live up to her unit's dreams and as time went on, she'd dreamt of her brothers and sisters living those free lives, following the dreams they'd had, refusing to face up to the truth that in all likelihood, they, like her, would be faced with this toil, this struggle.

What was freedom? What was life supposed to be like?

She sighed again, pushing her thoughts forward, facing a truth that she was determined to create. This world for all its struggle and torment, for its suffering was still better than the world Manticore had given them. She had better than had been hers by birthright and she had forged this for herself.

This was life.


	2. The Truth of Those Left Behind     Alec

**The Truth of those Left Behind**

Written for the further prompt of : Dark Angel, Alec, snow always reminds him of what happened after Max and the others broke free . . . and what happened to the ones they left behind

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**The Truth of Those Left Behind**

Clean and untouched, Alec looked at the flakes of snow falling thick and fast, covering the ground outside, hiding the passage of the people who had walked there earlier. Pure white concealing the stinking lives that were lived out here in Seattle, the filth of human passage. Humanity, not all it was lauded to be.

Alec hated snow, loathed the memories it brought back and the resentment. He tried so hard to survive out here in this free world, hated how much he needed Max and all that she represented. He was lost here, in need of guidance, goalposts and rules changing constantly in a way he didn't yet understand.

And it all came back time and again to Max.

She hated him, blamed him for Logan's vulnerability, for Manticore's deceit, for all his own failings, yet at the same time, she had the gall to expect his loyalty, his unswerving action to follow and support her orders. She never stopped to think of all that he had to resent in her.

He remembered that snowy night long ago. So long ago. Everything had changed.

His team had been dedicated, fastidious in everything, perfectionists. They'd striven for the top, to be the best, the ultimate . . . he wondered what became of the rest of them. He'd not seen any of them since that night.

They'd done nothing wrong, not one of them had done anything wrong, but what they endured . . . he shivered at the memory. Max and her unit had a hell of a lot to answer for. They'd run and everyone else had paid the price.

That first night, the alarms had sounded rousing them all from sleep, long before they should have been up. Confusion had stirred among them, questions and suspicions and then they'd been rounded up, every goddamned unit, pulled from their barracks and locked into the dungeons – children thrown in with 'nomalies and left secured.

They'd had to fight to survive. The 'nomalies resenting their normality, seeing this as a test; it had been kill or be killed for so many of Manticore's creations that night. He'd had blood on his hands like all the other survivors of that first night.

They hadn't known then what had caused the change in fortune, the sudden restriction. They'd only known the need to survive.

And survive he had. Days later, the guards and doctors had returned and so had begun the real torture. Oh, at the time he'd thought it couldn't get any worse than being thrown in with the 'nomalies . . . but that wasn't anywhere near true as he'd come to find out.

All the remaining X-5s had had to go through intensive evaluations, he'd found that out later. Evaluations - their minds picked apart by Psy-operatives and machines.

He pulled his arms tight around his waist at the memory, trying to quell the shiver of dread that coursed through him. Weeks and weeks it had gone on, and then . . . just when he'd thought and hoped it would be over, it wasn't.

The re-indoctrination began, worse than the nomalies, worse than the evaluations . . . there were no words, nothing but nightmares remained. When it was over, the team was gone, now they were individuals, new training, new roles to play.

Manticore had decided in its infinite wisdom that all clones of Max's unit were vulnerable. There was no way they could be trusted in teams again. Instead they became an elite but very isolated group. There weren't many of them to survive the evaluations and reindoctrination, mortality had been higher, seizures became a greater risk in them all. Frequent medical treatments as the doctors tried to rectify the damage they themselves had caused.

Each and everyone of them was a solo operative, a highly guarded, heavily monitored solo operative – assassination and infiltration. They'd no connection to anyone, no loyalty to anyone but themselves and Manticore.

Years he'd craved contact, been desperate for the least feeling of connection with another being in the world. Yet again Manticore had created the weakness that would lead to his failure. He'd had no idea, no experience left of any human response. Rachel . . . he could blame Manticore for her death, himself for his part, but there was a part of him that blamed Max's unit too. If it weren't for them, maybe he wouldn't have fallen so deeply for Rachel, tried so hard to save her and failed so badly.

He'd needed something so badly, some contact, some sense that broke through the barriers of isolation. He still did and he was no nearer understanding how to find it, keep it. It was always so fragile, he didn't have the finesse, the gentility to be able to treasure and nurture it. He was resigned to life in the cold, a life of sterility like the untouched snow lying on the ground outside his window.


End file.
